Page 92 of The Woman in the Warehouse

Anthony reached for the phone and set it on speaker. “Keith, as soon as my shoulder heals up a bit, Saylor and I will go with you to the shelter to get your own dog, okay?”

“I mean, those dogs won’t be Fury.”

“No, they won’t,” Anthony agreed. “But Fury already has owners. So you can’t have her. But there are dozens of other dogs who need someone to love them.”

“I guess,” Keith agreed. “Did you really get shot?”

“Yep.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Didn’t feel great.”

“Cool,” Keith said, making Anthony shake his head. “Well, Fury wants to go to take a nap now,” he said, making a little laugh escape me. “I have to go tuck her in. Talk to you later.”

With that, he ended the call.

And we finally had some peace and quiet.

“So,” I said, snuggling into Anthony who insisted that he was going to need to sleep sitting up for a day or two, so we’d settled on the couch for its proximity to both the bathroom and the kitchen, making short trips for him easy.

Though, my plan was to do all the running around for him.

No, I’d never been put in the position of being a caretaker. And, sure, Anthony was probably right that I could be a bit brusque at times. But I was determined to do a good job, damnit.

“So?” Anthony asked when I got lost in my own thoughts.

“How long do you think we have until your entire family descends upon this place?”

“Oh, we have a solid… two hours at least,” he teased, shooting me a small smile. “Keep in mind, though, that they’re all going to show up with dishes of food.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to a visit right now in that case,” I said, getting a little chuckle out of him.

“You know, you could go catch some sleep in bed. I’m okay, I promise.”

“Nope,” I said, snuggling in closer still. “I’m staying right here,” I told him. “You’re not allowed to get shot again,” I told him.

“I’ll try not to,” he said, leaning the side of his face against the top of my head. “Figure if I got you with me, you’ll keep me from hurting myself too much.”

“Not if,” I said, sliding my arm across his stomach.

“No?” he asked.

“I’m right here,” I told him. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

It was the closest I could come to a declaration of my feelings. Pathetic, I know. But I had to start somewhere. I figured that the longer I was with Ant, the more comfortable I would get with telling him how I felt, how important he’d become to me in such a short amount of time.

It was almost overwhelming to imagine how those feelings would compound with more time together, how huge a part of me he would become.

“I’m thinking of retiring early,” I admitted as we sat in silence listening to the city wake up below and around us.

“Yeah? I gotta admit, I like that idea. What would you do with the warehouse?”

“I don’t know. I could sell it. Or I could turn it into some sort of business.”

“I could go in with you,” he said.

“You’re just looking for a way to wash dirty mafia money, aren’t you?” I teased.

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